Tomorrow

She leaned in to deeply breathe in the warm, baby powder scent of the sleeping babies head one last time, before kissing his downy brow and laying him back in the bassinet beside her bed. She laid on her side, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his tiny chest, unable to fall asleep for fear of wasting a moment of committing his perfect face to her memory. Tomorrow they’d both be leaving this cold and sterile room, his life just beginning and hers forever changed.

Dawn never really breaks in a hospital, that would suggest there was ever any real peace to be broken. Instead the midwives give up trying to whisper and start talking to their neighbour as if standing metres apart, the tea trolley clatters around nosily, and proud fathers and excited siblings join the chorus of noise a ward full of newborns can make.

She couldn’t help but feel resentful of the other mothers this morning, with their husbands being led into the ward behind giant bunches of flowers and balloons, and their older children all dressed in their Sunday best looking wide-eyed with wonder at their new playmates. She knew there was no-one who would be bringing her bunches of peonies as they had for Pearl across the ward, no ‘Its a Boy!’ balloons tied to her bed frame to herald the arrival of her beautiful son.

It was near 10am when she saw them standing at the nurses station outside, she couldn’t see their faces but she knew from the sensible hair styles, sensible mid-heel blue courts and sensible beige overcoats that they were here for her. She thought about running away, again, but knew they’d find her, again. She also knew her son needed more than the short life they’d have together if she tried to escape. 

She turned away from watching her visitors to watch her son stir awake, his eyes slowly blinking open against the bright daylight. He seemed so calm compared to the other babies in the ward, he’d barely cried throughout the night, just mewled for a few minutes until she could get him to latch on to her breast. She’d cried much more than he had, almost making her grateful for the howls of the other babies drowning out her sobs. 

“Dillon”

She’d resolved not to name him, his name wasn’t to be hers to give, but bureaucratic complications and even worse weather had meant they’d had days together rather than the minutes she’d expected. When she went into labour they’d told her they’d be there tomorrow, but that was three days ago. Three days of calling her son ‘baby smith’, three days of nursing him, three days of inhaling that newborn baby scent, and three days of being told they’d be there tomorrow.

“Your name is Dillon, like your great granddad. He’d have loved you so much”

She whispered to her son, imploring him to hold the name she’d given him deep within him somewhere, so he’d always know who he was and know that he had been loved. 

“Clare?” The beige ladies had finished at the nurses station and were now hovering around her bed with the ward sister who’d called her name. “Clare, these ladies are here to talk to you now, can you sit up?”

Clare liked the ward sister who shared her name, she must have been twice her ages and so much more together than Clare could ever hope to be. The sister had been on duty when the police brought Clare in the first time, she’d argued for them to remove the handcuffs and stayed long past her shift ended to make sure the younger woman felt settled and safe. 

“Clare? My names Rebecca Dalton, I’m from Social Services” the taller beige lady spoke to her directly. “You’ve met my colleague Annette I believe? We’re here to help you.”

“No you’re not, you’re here to take Dillon from me” Clare spoke quietly, she knew the other mothers on the ward judged her already, she didn’t need them to know all the details. 

“We’ve talked about this Clare, you know you can’t look after him in your situation.” Annette was firm but gentle, she reminded Clare of an old school headmistress from one of the many schools Clare had gone through in her younger years. “He has good parents waiting for him. When this is all over we can help you get on your feet again properly. Tomorrow can be a new start for you both.”

She’d known this day was coming since the first day she’d realised her period was late again, there was never going to be any chance they’d let her keep her baby. She’d begged and pleaded, promised to get clean and sober, vowed to sort her life out, swore she’d change this time, but it had all been for nothing. 

The first time she’d been pregnant she was 14 and living in shared accommodation with at least thirty other kids no-one wanted to love. She had hidden it as long as she could, but there aren’t many ways to keep secrets when life is bunk bed dorms and 6 girls to a bathroom. When the staff found out they had told her they wanted to help her, at first she thought that meant finding her and her baby a permanent home and teaching her how to care for a baby in a way her own mother hadn’t been able to care for her. It didn’t take long for her to realise they were offering to help arrange for her ‘little problem’ as they’d called it, to be taken care of by a doctor before she hit the 12 week point.

When she’d gotten pregnant the second time at 16 she’d left the care home before anyone could find out, so they wouldn’t be able to put her through that again. It hadn’t taken long before the realities of life on the streets as a teenage girl put paid to any hopes she’d had of being able to raise her baby herself. Barely three weeks passed before her body gave up on the tiny life it had been sustaining, and she had given up on herself.

She was long past the 12 week point when she realised she was pregnant again at 20. She’d aged out of child services support and found herself back on the streets. She wouldn’t have been able to pick Dillons father out of a line-up, couldn’t even remember if he’d been someone who’d paid for her services or one she’d found a moment of mutual comfort and connection with. It didn’t matter either way.

As the ward sister reached for Dillon to prepare him for his journey to his new life, Clare asked her to stop. If this was to be the last moment she could have with her baby, she should be the one to get him ready.

She took her time gently cleaning his perfect features, committing each crease of his tiny hands and feet to her memory. Getting him dressed into a fresh baby-grow with little grey elephants printed on it, she swaddled him in a blanket before kissing his head and handing him to the shorter beige woman. Tears fell silently as she turned her head away so she wouldn’t have to see Annette ready her son for his big journey south. 

Snowflakes fell fast outside the window, blanketing the world in white. The great expanse of nothing matching the hollow emptiness in her heart. She heard the sister talking to the beige ladies but the words didn’t quite reach her ears, as if they were muffled behind a wall of snow instead of next to her bed. 

Brought out of her trance by the click-clack of sensible heels getting further away, she howled in anguish just as the wind whipped up a storm outside her window. Sister Claire held her tight as Clare sobbed in her arms.

“I’ve got you… I’ve got you” she whispered to the younger womans’ head “You go ahead… I’ve got you”.

True to her word, the sister stayed with her until Clares heavy sobs gave way to hiccups and she fell into a fitful sleep for the first time in days. 

She woke a few hours later to see the snow had stopped and the wind had settled. The tea trolley volunteer had left a hot mug of tea and a small plate of biscuits by her bed. Clare had never been good at asking for help or recognising genuine kindness, but she’d noticed the elderly ladies who manned the tea-cart always put an extra couple of biscuits on her plate. She might not have balloons and flowers beside her bed, but for someone for whom food was often in short supply the chocolate oat cookies were much more welcome. 

“How are you feeling?” Sister Claire asked as she pulled the curtain closed around Clares bed. “Physically, I mean. Can you sit up ok?”

Clare nodded, pulled herself upright and tightened her robe around her thin frame. The sister passed her her tea and biscuits and taking one for herself sat down on the chair beside Clares bed.

“I’ve spoken with Dr Stephens, and we’re all happy with your recovery but we’d like you to stay in one more night if thats ok with you?”

“Why? Whats wrong with me? Don’t you need the space?”

“Normally, yes, but with the weather as it is the surgical team have had to delay some of our elective ladies so we have beds for a few more days. I - we - would like you to stay a little longer. It's not right for anyone to be out in this weather, especially after just having had a baby.” She paused while looking at Clare, trying to gauge her mood before going on. “I’ve also spoken to a friend of mine, she runs a local womens shelter. She’d like to come see you tomorrow morning if thats ok? She has space for you, she can help you get back on your feet.”

Clare had been down this path before, officious people offering help rarely actually helped Clare, instead only helping themselves feel virtuous. She didn’t expect this time to be any different, but having her baby taken from her had left her feeling hollow and unable to fight anymore. Besides, a warm bed for a few more nights while this storm passed sounded better than being in a shop doorway, even if accompanied by a well-intentioned but ultimately meaningless lecture. 

“Thank you.” She gave the nurse a half smile that was little more than a twitch of a lip, blink and you’d have missed it.

“Right, well, in that case I’ll give her a call back and she’ll come see you tomorrow.” The nurse patted Clares hand and gave it a light squeeze before she turned to leave. 

Clare fell back to sleep, dreaming of a better tomorrow.

Tomorrow came and went, and with thanks to the Ward Sister Claire and her friend Rachel, Clares tomorrows no longer arrived with dread. She couldn’t say she looked forward to each new day, but each day became one further away from the life she’d had and the bad decisions she’d made. No amount of tomorrows could ever let her stop feeling the heartache of her last night with her son. 

***

It’d had been a year since the day she’d been arrested, caught shoplifting baby-grows for the baby she knew she wasn’t going to be allowed to keep. Tomorrow would be Dillons first birthday. She wondered how his new parents would celebrate, if they’d have cake, if his new grandparents loved him as much as hers had loved her before they died. 

She looked at the faces of the toddlers in the park wondering if Dillon had started walking yet or if his teeth had started to come through. She wondered if he had her dark curls or if he’d inherited straight hair like her grandparents who’d raised her. When she heard one of the younger toddlers call out for his mama, she thought of the woman her baby would reach out to with that word. Was it his first word? She hadn’t known much about his adoptive parents - it had been a closed adoption - but she knew they had two other children, one adopted and one biological. She’d been told they were mid-thirties, both had good jobs allowing them to regularly work from home, and lived in a large house commuting distance from London. She hadn’t asked any more questions, it was enough to know he’d have more than she’d ever had.

Clare bought a cake at the supermarket, she’d looked at the rows of brightly coloured sugared icing and thought about whether Dillon would be more interested in cars, animals, or dinosaurs. Did he have a favourite? She bought a small dinosaur shaped cake and took it back to the small flat she’d been renting for the last few months. 

Tomorrow she’d light a candle for her baby.

***

Years past and Clare found herself settled into a routine. She’d found part-time employment through Rachels connections at a youth centre and threw herself into helping stop young girls from falling down the same road that she had. She couldn’t always reach them, but she fought hard for the ones that she could. She tried to make sure that any girl who asked for her help received all she could, without conditions or exceptions. She took great pride in keeping babies with their young mothers wherever they wanted to be able to, finding them accommodation and support in stopping the cycle of neglect. 

It was nearly 5 years since she’d been forced to give up Dillon, and not a day went by when she didn’t take the time to recall his tiny, perfect features. The wrinkles in his hands and feet etched into her memory to be brought to mind every time she felt him slip further away. He’d be of age to start school tomorrow. She wondered if he’d already been to preschool, had he already made friends there? Would he be nervous and cling to his mothers skirt or would he be ready to charge in ready to learn all there was to know about the world? She hoped for the latter. 

She’d spent time browsing the Back to School aisles at the local supermarket, since his 1^st birthday she’d found herself drawn to the dinosaur motifs when she thought of him. Would he have a dinosaur backpack? She felt the soft wool of the school jumpers and tried to imagine a small boy with brown eyes, dark curly hair and dimples dressed smartly in a navy blue uniform like a tiny businessman off to work in the City. 

Tomorrow she’d take her lunch to work in her new lunchbox, the one covered in dinosaurs. 

***

Clare was 28 when she met Robert. She hadn’t been looking, not in any sense, thats how she’d bumped into him. He worked at the pub around the corner from her flat and invited her for a drink. She’d turned him down at first, afraid to get too close to anyone who could leave her, but he hadn’t given up and it wasn’t long before they were officially together. She’d told him about her life, her mother being an alcoholic and leaving her to be raised by her grandparents. Her grandmothers early death from cancer when Clare was 6 and her grandfathers death from a broken heart just 2 years later. She’d eventually told him about Dillon, and together they celebrated his milestones as she had since that first year. 

They’d been together 3 years when Clare missed her period, and in that time Clares life had become more blissfully normal than she had ever hoped. They had a small house in a nice part of town, and a cat to help make it a home. She cycled to work most days, and went to a local college in the evening to study for exams she’d missed out on when she was younger. She hoped to train as a midwife and had stayed in contact with Claire and Rachel for the last 11 years. 

She wondered if their baby would look like Dillon, or if he’d take after Robert. Tomorrow, she would know. 

***

Daniel had turned 7, and to Clares relief, had shown more interest in cars than dinosaurs. Though she knew that even if Dillon had been interested in dinosaurs he’d likely have long grown out of them by now, but to her, they would always be associated with her first born and she didn’t want to share that memory. She smiled when she saw dinosaur cakes in the supermarket, thinking back to that day 17 years ago when she’d first thought he’d like a dinosaur cake. Dillon was to turn 18 tomorrow, and dinosaurs were surely a thing of the past. 

Tomorrow she’d raise a glass to her now adult son.

***

18 years had past since Dillon had arrived on a snowy morning in February. His family had thrown him a huge party to celebrate his 18^th birthday, even the thick snow hadn’t stopped the revelry this time. 

He’d always known he was adopted, with his 2 remarkably different siblings how could he not? His parents had kept his name, allowing him to keep that link to his past open, should he ever wonder who we was before he became a Saunders. They’d planned to name him Michael but that became his middle name as after he’d been placed in their arms, he had felt like a Dillon. He didn’t know much about his birth mother, just that she’d loved him enough to give him a better life with his parents, and for that he’d always been grateful. 

Tomorrow, he would try to find her.